


we will drive ourselves insane

by viennawaits



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:57:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viennawaits/pseuds/viennawaits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles isn’t afraid of death. Either there’s something more to life or there’s not. While he prefers the former, he doesn’t like to spend much time dwelling on it. Life is for the living, death is for the dead and all that shit.</p><p>No, Stiles is afraid of <i>dying</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we will drive ourselves insane

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written for the Teen Wolf fandom and the first thing I've written in awhile so bear with me while I figure things out. Anyways, let me know what you think!
> 
> (Also, there's like a not-really panic attack in here that I didn't do any research on so it's probably horribly inaccurate. Sorry.)
> 
> The title is from the song Bad Blood by Bastille and it's really great so you should check that out too.

Stiles isn’t afraid of death. Either there’s something more to life or there’s not. While he prefers the former, he doesn’t like to spend much time dwelling on it. Life is for the living, death is for the dead and all that shit.

No, Stiles is afraid of _dying_.

The actual act seems to be much more difficult than what comes after it. And knowing the life he lives, Stiles assumes that his death will be painful and long, most likely at a young age. And that’s fucking terrifying. Stiles doesn’t want to die. Like at all. Ever.

Logically Stiles knows that he’s got a small army of supernatural beings to protect him from dying a slow and painful death and who have grown quite fond of him over the span of two years. It doesn’t stop him from working himself into a panic at three in the morning every once in awhile. 

Stiles can feel his heart rate increase as his breathing becomes heavier and he wrenches himself out of bed before he can wake the sleeping werewolf next to him. He stumbles down the hallway and holds his breath as he passes Isaac’s room.

Once he’s made it down the stairs and out to the front porch he allows himself to give in to the overwhelming fear that’s threatening to crush him. He squats down and curls his arms over his head, attempting to make himself as small as possible as he tries to calm himself by counting the nails in the floorboards by his feet.

He decides its no use when his body refuses to cooperate with his efforts. Stiles pulls himself up and staggers across the front lawn of the Hale house – _his_ house his mind corrects – and into the woods along the edge of the property. He can’t think in the open air, he’s too vulnerable, too exposed. The woods provide safety and comfort. The woods will protect him.

He makes it a few yards into the trees before he collapses against the bark of an old oak. Stiles braces his hands on his knees and hunches his back to try and force air into his lungs. His breath is labored and his heart is bouncing out of his chest. He slides down to wrap his arms around his legs and presses his forehead against his knees. A shiver racks through his body and he wishes he thought to bring a jacket with him to fend off the cool October chill. 

It’s stupid and he knows that it is. It’s not even like there was a specific event to set him off. In comparison to previous times, Beacon Hills has been fairly quiet since the pack ran out the coven of witches that wanted Lydia to join them a month ago.

Stiles recognizes it as the calm before the storm because nothing in Stiles’ life is this easy. There’s always something or someone to threaten his or his friends’ lives. Without a sword hanging over his head, Stiles creates his own.

The panic isn’t subsiding like it has in the past when Stiles worked himself up over his impending doom. Instead, his heart feels like it might explode at any moment now and he can’t breathe, his lungs are refusing to cooperate with him. His hands move to clutch the dirt next to him and he’s holding on for dear life, needing something to ground him while his life falls apart around him.

Flashes of his father, Scott, Lydia, his pack...Derek, broken and battered and dead course through his mind. He can’t live without them, knows that if anything happens he’ll go insane. What started with worrying about his own death has turned into his overactive imagination killing his family.

He needs Derek.

Derek who always knows how to help him through the panic that grips him. Who makes him feel strong even when he knows that he’s just a defenseless human. Who refuses to let Stiles die.

Before Stiles can make any noise, though, he hears the screen door slam shut and footsteps racing down the porch stairs. Stiles feels bad for a moment for worrying Derek, knows that in any other situation Derek moves silently. If Stiles can hear him then Derek is obviously too consumed with other thoughts to care if anyone hears him.

He tries to pull himself into a standing position before Derek reaches him but its no use. Derek’s there in a heartbeat, crouching at Stiles’ side and running hands over his shoulders, down his arms. Stiles knows that he’s checking for injuries but can’t get enough air to tell him that he’s fine, he’s being stupid, but he’s _fine_.

He looks up at Derek’s face and winces internally when he sees how pale it is, how worried. Derek’s lips are moving but Stiles can’t focus on what he’s saying. With each moment Stiles doesn’t respond Derek’s lips move faster and faster. He presses his face into Stiles’ neck and inhales deeply. Stiles’ heartbeat slows marginally at the action and he catches the end of Derek’s sentence.

“…Just tell me what you need,” Derek’s whispering against his skin.

Stiles draws in a shaky but deep breath and Derek pulls back enough to look him in the eyes, a small whine escaping him as he does so. He tries to tell Derek what he’s feeling without his voice, even though he’s a mystery to himself at the moment. Derek seems to understand though, because he pulls Stiles close to him, wrapping his arms protectively around the younger boy and pushing his head towards his chest.

“Focus on my heartbeat, Stiles. Breathe with me,” Derek murmurs into Stiles’ hair. “In…out.”

Stiles exhales shakily with Derek and is rewarded with a kiss to the top of his head. “Good. Do it again.”

Stiles counts the passing moments by Derek’s heartbeat. He loses track after two hundred but by that time his own heart is already calmed.

He pulls away from Derek’s chest to meet his eyes. There’s still worry in his irises but nothing like the raw fear that had been there when he’d first found Stiles. He’s practically in Derek’s lap but makes no move to get off of him. He knows that Derek is asking him what’s wrong but he can’t vocalize his thoughts right now. Instead, he buries his face in Derek’s neck and it’s a testament to the trust between them that the older man doesn’t flinch away from the vulnerable position. 

Derek just rubs a hand across Stiles’ shoulder blades and pulls him tighter against his chest until he’s ready to talk. Stiles takes one last deep breath against Derek’s skin before resigning himself to the inevitable conversation.

“I’m fine,” Stiles says, wincing when he hears his own hoarse voice.

Derek looks doubtful when he frowns at Stiles. “You should have woken me up.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

Derek exhales sharply before pressing his forehead to Stiles’, hand gripping the back of his neck. “I _want_ you to bother me with stuff like this Stiles. Do you have any idea how worried I was when I woke up and you weren’t there? And then I had to hear your heartbeat somewhere in the woods sounding like you were – like you were in trouble,” he says, clearly shaken. “I want to help,” he finishes in a softer tone.

“I know, Der, and I’m sorry. It’s just that things were going so well, you know? There was no reason for me to freak. It was stupid.” Stiles looks away from where Derek had been keeping eye contact.

Derek pulls Stiles’ chin gently back towards him. “It’s never that stupid, you know. Do you want to talk about it?”

Stiles huffs out a half laugh. “Look at Sourwolf – wanting to talk about feelings and stuff.”

Derek growls but it’s low and non-threatening. “I’m serious, Stiles. I want to know that you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. Just thinking about my impending death.” The attempted joke falls flat when they both realize the gravity of the statement.

Derek growls again, more protectively this time. “You’re not going to die, Stiles,” he promises. “Not while I’m here.”

Stiles chuckles. “While I appreciate your heroic statement, I don’t think many people intend to actually die. You won’t be able to save me every time and I’m getting really sick of always being the damsel in distress.” He’s not sure why he’s arguing with Derek – perhaps it’s the wish that Derek would argue back and make him believe that he will always be there to save him but no matter the reason he can’t seem to stop himself from playing Devil’s Advocate.

“Stiles,” Derek says seriously. “I promise you that you will die. But I can also promise that you’re going to die seventy years from now surrounded by your family. You’re going to die loved and safe. You’re going to die _happy_. I promise.” 

Stiles gapes at Derek for a moment before he snaps his jaw shut. “Do I have to have a panic attack every time I want you to say romantic shit?” he asks. In a few simple words, Derek eased the pressure of the anvil that was crushing Stiles’ chest.

Derek half smiles but Stiles presses on. “Seriously though, _thank you_. And I’m sorry I freaked out on you.”

“It’s fine. And wake me up when you need something, instead of letting me worry about you getting eaten in the woods or something.”

Stiles’ laugh rings clear and loud through the preserve, echoing off the trees. Derek smiles and lets the sound wash over him.

“I will,” the younger boy says before threading his fingers through Derek’s hair and pulling him close enough to press their lips together.

Derek goes willingly, allowing Stiles to slot their mouths together in a way that they’ve perfected over the years. The familiar taste of Stiles calms Derek’s senses and allows him to focus in on the only heartbeat he hears now. The reassuring _thump-thump_ that he feels underneath a thin layer of cotton lets him relax in a way that he’s only now learning to do.

It sounds like _home_.


End file.
